Brittle Shadows (3 page)

“Chris?” she
asked in a strained whisper.

“Yeah.” He
sounded groggy, as if just woken from a deep sleep.

“Oh God, I
didn’t mean… I’m so sorry, but I didn’t know who else to call.”

“Jemma, is that
you?” His voice sounded stronger, his concern evident.

“Yes. Someone
broke in…” She took a breath. “Someone with a key.”

“Into the
apartment? When?”

“Tonight. A few
minutes ago. I think they’ve gone now.” Or so she hoped. The idea that the
intruder might still be there, lurking in the dark, scared her more than she wanted
to admit.

Clonk
. “I’m on my way,” he said, his voice suddenly hollow, echoey. A
zipping sound and then what she assumed was him moving about. “But if they come
back or you think you’re in any danger at all dial triple-0 straight away. Got
that?” She heard a jangle of keys. “Jemma, have you got that?”

“Yes.” She bit
her lip, the urgency in his voice not helping.

The call
disconnected, leaving her alone in the dark, waiting. She tried to recall where
the light switches were. It wasn’t the dark she feared so much, as what it
could be harboring. Her heart rapping, she stood up, her phone clutched in her
left hand, the wineglass relinquished. Each step took her deeper into shadows.
Extending her right hand, she felt along the wall until she found a switch.

Bright white
light flooded the room. She blinked, her eyes slow to adjust to the sudden
glare. Her breathing steadied. As far as she could see, nothing looked out of
place. She crept through the apartment, flicking on every light switch she came
across. Only the master bedroom and en suite remained. She hesitated for a
second, then grabbed for the door handle, slamming the door closed on the
darkness within. Her breath escaped in a whoosh.

She stationed
herself on the intercom’s kitchen side, the raised counter acting as a barrier
between her and the door. With swipe keys only giving access to programmed
floors, cameras in the common areas, and regular security patrols, she had
thought she couldn’t be safer. Yet in the middle of the night, someone with a key
had let themselves into her dead sister’s apartment. Someone who hadn’t
expected anyone else to be there.

Although
anticipating it, the buzz from the intercom made her jump. Sucking in air
between her teeth, she checked the video monitor and pressed the door release
button. It wasn’t until she opened the door to let in a sleep-creased Detective
Sykes that her heart rate began to drop again.

She pulled him
in and locked the door.

Casually
dressed in stonewash jeans and a XXXX grey marl T-shirt, he looked more like
one of her mates than a police officer. But then he would. He was off-duty and
she had just dragged him out of his bed.

“Sorry—”

He cut her off.
“Don’t be. You did the right thing. First, are you all right?”

She nodded.
Much
better now that you’re here
, she thought but didn’t say.

“You’re sure
that whoever it was has gone?”

She glanced in
the direction of the bedrooms. “Not unless there was more than one,” she
whispered.

“Okay, stay put
while I check.” He disappeared down the hall, leaving her standing at the door.

A couple of
minutes later, he returned. “All clear. Now tell me what happened. Start from
the beginning.”

“I need to sit
down,” she said, heading for the living area.

He followed,
taking up position in one of the two boxy armchairs as she scooped up the empty
wineglass from the couch. She set it upright on the side table, ignoring his
sidelong glance, and sat down.

Taking a deep
breath, she proceeded to fill him in on everything she remembered: from waking
disorientated, to the light coming through the door, to the realization someone
was in the apartment, to the intruder’s hurried departure.

When she had
finished, he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “Now don’t take this the
wrong way, but is it possible you dreamed it? Grief can do funny things to
people.”

She leapt to
her feet. “You think I’m crazy?”

He ran a hand
through his thick black hair and remained seated. “That’s not what I meant.
You’re in a strange apartment in a strange city, having not long buried your
sister. You said it yourself, you didn’t know where you were when you first
woke up. Is it just possible that the light and the footsteps were an extension
of a nightmare you were having and that’s what woke you?”

She cocked her
head. For a fleeting moment, he had her doubting herself. “No,” she said,
glaring down at him. “No, I did not imagine it.”

“I had to ask.
Okay then,” he said, pulling his mobile phone from his pocket, “you need to
report it.”

She grimaced.
“I thought that’s what I was doing.” The idea of having to go through it all
again, especially if they were to doubt her story, was too much.

“Sorry, Jemma,”
he said, with a semi-apologetic smile. “I’m not actually here in any official
capacity. That could be construed as a possible conflict of interest, my knowing
you and your sister and all.”

“That’s that
then,” she said, flopping back down onto the couch.

“What’s
stopping you reporting it? It won’t take long and I can assure you my
colleagues don’t bite. Not much, anyway.” He bared his teeth and snapped them
together.

She gave a
half-laugh-half-sigh. “You’re right, of course. It’s just that I’m so tired, I
think I’m past the point of thinking straight.”

“Well, the boys
in blue can’t investigate what they’re not told about.”

“But you can.”

“Can what?”

“Investigate.
There are cameras all over the place in this building. Whoever it was couldn’t
have got all the way up here without getting their photo snapped at least once.
If we could see that, then at least you would know I wasn’t making it up.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No matter,”
she said with a quick shake of the head, “the security guy is going to be more
inclined to talk to you – especially if you flash your badge – isn’t he?” She
gave him what she hoped was a disarming smile.

He studied her,
his hazel eyes narrowed. She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable under his
intense gaze. Then his face relaxed, a hint of a smile tweaking the corners of
his mouth.

“You have the
same eyes.”

“Pardon?”

He leaned back
in his chair, his hands behind his head. “You and Tanya; you have the same
green eyes.”

She frowned at
him. While Tanya had been blessed with their mother’s long legs and strawberry
blonde locks, she had inherited more of the Italian genes from her father’s
side. But what bearing did the color of her eyes have on anything? “So? We are…
were sisters.”

“Just an
observation, that’s all.” He stood. “Okay, where’s the security office? I can’t
promise anything, but I’ll give it a go.”

“I think I saw
a magnet on the fridge with the phone number,” she said, already moving toward
the kitchen.

As she reached
around the side of the refrigerator, he opened its door. “There’s empty and
then there’s empty. You have to eat, Jemma. You can’t live on air alone. Even
if it is chilled,” he added.

She stepped
between him and the open fridge, elbowing the door shut again. “Here,” she
said, handing him the body corporate’s magnetized business card. “You worry
about this. I’ll worry about me.” Grocery shopping was the least of her
concerns.

One eyebrow
arched, but he said nothing, taking the magnet from her fingers.

“Don’t mind
me.” She forced a smile. “I’m not always this grumpy.”

His expression
didn’t change. “No, you’re right: it isn’t any of my business. I’ll call this
number and see what I can find out,” he said over his shoulder, walking away
from her.

Her hand on her
head, she stood like a dummy in the middle of the kitchen. If there was one
thing she was good at, it was pushing people away. She was still standing there
when Chris returned.

“Do you want
the good news or the bad news?”

He didn’t give
her a chance to reply.

“The good
news,” he continued, “is I was able to sweet-talk the bloke into reviewing the
security footage.”

She brightened.

“The bad news
is, according to him, the only person who’s come or gone in the last hour is
me.”

First thing in the morning, she
would be on the property manager’s doorstep waiting to see about changing the
locks. But until then, Jemma was on her own, having convinced Chris – if not
herself – that the intruder wouldn’t risk coming back while she was there. Even
then, Chris wouldn’t leave until he had watched her program all his contact
numbers into her mobile phone.

Now alone, a
broom jammed under the door handle and every light in the apartment on, Jemma
felt safe enough. Though not safe enough to sleep.

She wandered
into the kitchen and filled the kettle. While she waited for it to boil, she
checked out the contents of the cupboards and drawers. Everything perishable
had been removed. No milk of any description. All that remained were the
canisters of coffee, tea, sugar and an unopened box of Jatz crackers.

Armed with a
mug of sweetened black coffee, she headed for the study. Dropping into the
leather executive chair adrift in the middle of the room, she sipped her drink
and surveyed the stack of sealed moving boxes. Each was labeled in thick black
writing with a room and numbered. Her sister’s personal possessions – all that
was left of Tanya – had been condensed into nine measly cartons.

Her coffee
half-drunk, Jemma wheeled the chair across to the desk and set down her mug.
With a grunt, she heaved the box labeled OFFICE off the top row onto first the
chair and then the floor. Snagging the end of a strip of packing tape, she
peeled it back. She continued with the rest, the ripping sound overloud in the
night stillness.

Perched on the
chair, she began to unpack the open carton, laying the contents on the desk
beside her: rubber-banded envelopes of what appeared to be EFTPOS and other
receipts, files of bank and credit card statements, a metal-cornered shoebox
size case of cards and other correspondence, a partly used ream of photocopy
paper, a spindle of blank DVDs, an imitation-leather CD/DVD wallet, pens and
paperclips galore, and a grey vinyl desk pad amongst other things. Right at the
bottom, nestled amongst a tangle of cables, she found a Compaq Presario
notebook.

She hauled it
up onto the desk and opened it. Hoping it was at least partially charged, she
pressed the power button, before going back to gather up the cables and
anything else that was floating around in the bottom of the box. Unjumbling it
all, she soon realized she had Ethernet cables and AC power adapters for two
laptops. The lanyards of two silver-cased memory sticks had also managed to get
themselves impossibly entwined and she set those aside to deal with later.

The notebook
was asking for a password. This was one of those times when her expertise as an
information systems auditor should have come in handy. Unfortunately, the
software she normally used for hacking into password-protected systems, she had
left in Perth. She frowned at the screen as if expecting the password to
miraculously appear.

She tried the
obvious ones like Tanya’s date of birth and her initials – both forwards and
backwards. Her sister wasn’t that foolish, though. Clicking her fingers, Jemma
jumped up and hurried to get her laptop from the other room.

Minutes later,
she had powered up her computer and, thanks to the advances of mobile
technology, connected to the Internet. Her fingers flew over the keyboard. She
remembered hearing about an online login recovery service a while back. Now all
she had to do was find it.

Success. She
scanned the site, her initial triumph dampened when she realized that if she
wanted an immediate response, she would have to pay for it. That or wait 48
hours.

Sighing, she
leaned back in her chair and stared up at the ceiling. How desperate was she to
access Tanya’s computer files? What difference would another two days make? Or
rather, why pay for something she didn’t have to? Especially considering she
couldn’t be sure where her next income would be coming from. Though technically
still employed, she knew the generous compassionate leave allowed her couldn’t
last forever. Besides, if she decided to stay on in Melbourne, she would have
to resign her Perth job.

Not bothering
to untangle their lanyards, she grabbed the two memory sticks from the desk,
one of which she plugged into the spare USB port at the back of her laptop.
Except for the small security application that came with it, the 2GB drive was
clean. She swapped it with the other stick. Any data, if it ever existed, had
been erased from that, too.

Following the
online instructions, she downloaded the program from the site onto the memory
stick, before using it to boot Tanya’s notebook and extract the encrypted
passwords. She then plugged it back into her laptop and uploaded the file to
the website for decryption, nominating the free service. With nothing else to
do but wait, she opened her email Inbox.